The prisoner, who was considerably past the prime of life, was a man of very commanding appearance, and in his youthful days must have been a model of strength and agility; but now his frame was emaciated to the last degree, his cheeks were pale and sunken, and his eyes, which were fastened eagerly upon the boy, had a wild, defiant look in them.
As he arose slowly and tremblingly to his feet, he beckoned to Julian impatiently, almost fiercely, to enter the room, at the same time drawing a letter from his pocket and tossing it toward him. It fell upon the carpet just inside the door, and Julian, filled with wonder, stepped forward and picked it up. An instant afterward he would have given everything he ever hoped to possess if he could have recalled the action.
The rattling of dishes in the kitchen suddenly ceased, and the Mexican cook came into the hall, humming a tune and snapping his fingers as if he felt at peace with himself and all the world, and Julian knew, as well as if it had been told him, that he was coming into that room.
The anxiety and alarm he exhibited were fully shared by the prisoner, whose face was the color of ashes. He could not have been more fully alive to the dangers of the boy’s situation if he had been in the same peril himself. After looking all around the room, searching for some avenue of escape or place of concealment, he pointed with a quick movement behind the door, and sinking back into his chair rested his head upon his hand. Julian understood the gesture and was quick to obey it. He dodged behind the door like a flash of light, and a moment later the Mexican came into the room.
“Have you finished your supper?” he demanded roughly.
“No,” replied the prisoner. “Come in again in a few minutes.”
“Now, I want you to hurry up; do you understand that? I am not going to wait all night for those dishes.”
The Mexican went out again and stood looking up and down the hall. Once he started toward the living-room, and the movement gave Julian new cause for alarm. What if he should go in there and discover his absence? What would the robbers do to him if they should find him concealed in the room with their prisoner? The fears these questions conjured up were speedily set at rest, however, for the man turned about and went into the kitchen again; and when the rattling of the dishes told Julian that he had resumed his work, he thrust the letter into his pocket, slipped from behind the door, and with noiseless steps retraced his way to the living-room. He arrived there just in time to escape danger from a new source, for the door of the stable opened and the hostler entered. He found the boy seated beside the table, with his arms folded and his head resting upon them. He had assumed this position in order to conceal his face, which he knew was as pale as that of the dead.